


i get so hungry (when you say you love me)

by quixxotique (crownlessliestheking)



Series: Bringing an Al Dente Noodle to the Spaghetti House [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: A touch of orgasm denial, Anal Sex, Big Shot Director getting Rekt by his bros, Blood, Breath Control, Dirk and Hal are twins, Dirk and Hal have caliginous leanings in their interactions, Everything's consensual and enthusiastic except for the murder, Human Hal, M/M, Oral Sex, Psycho Strider AU, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Spit Roast, The dead person has been unnamed but they definitely didn't consent to dying, Threesome, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, YANDERE STRIDERS, they're fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessliestheking/pseuds/quixxotique
Summary: You are cool and collected as always, the thrill settling deep in your bones like it’s sated a hunger, a knot finally untangled; Dirk is similar, shaded eyes hooded, face impassive, but the tense set of his shoulders and the slight curl of his mouth betrays him; and Hal, Hal’s jittery and bright with a near manic grin stretching his lips, stray splatters of blood painting his face like another set of freckles, his hands tucked into his pockets so his fingers don’t shake with residual excitement.





	i get so hungry (when you say you love me)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by sgt-spank's [artwork](http://sgt-spank.tumblr.com/post/150554687748/in-lieu-of-continuing-to-feed-anti-shippers-more). Hope you enjoy.

You practically burst through the front door of the apartment, the twins leading the charge- there’s no nervous fumbling of keys, no breathless curses and the rush of fear, the adrenaline of ‘can’t be seen, can’t get caught’ surging through you. Through any of you, actually: You are cool and collected as always, the thrill settling deep in your bones like it’s sated a hunger, a knot finally untangled; Dirk is similar, shaded eyes hooded, face impassive, but the tense set of his shoulders and the slight curl of his mouth betrays him; and Hal, Hal’s jittery and bright with a near manic grin stretching his lips, stray splatters of blood painting his face like another set of freckles, his hands tucked into his pockets so his fingers don’t shake with residual excitement.

The door shuts, a quiet click, and Dirk turns the lights on, but keeps them dim. You raise your eyebrows at him, but you know what he’s going to do. The only question is, who’ll make the first move. You like to think of yourself as a patient guy, but that’s not at all tested today, because Hal doesn’t waste a minute before he’s slamming Dirk back against the wall, and you can feel the impact in your bones, thrumming through your body. Dirk snarls, and god, that’s a beautiful sight on its own, all that eloquence and that silver tongue of his thrown aside for this, and Hal bares his teeth in return, all animal.

Their kiss is more a collision, you’ve seen goddamn train wrecks with more finesse, with less force and violence, and you? Well, you’re content to watch for now, so you arrange yourself on the couch. Pristine, white fabric for the irony the three of you appreciate, but it’s a goddamn pain in the ass when you need to get it re-upholstered. Something that happens a little too often, if you’re honest with yourself- sure, it’s easy, you’re filthy rich and all that shit, but, like Dirk’s still so fond of saying, you’ve gotta be careful. ‘Course, he’s had his own accidents, but Hal’s arguably the messiest of the three of you. It reminds you of your younger days, but- those were more out of necessity, than anything else. Like most things, you got used to it, got to like it. And like most people, you’ve got your vices.

You debate the merits of lighting up a cigarette as you watch the twins; Hal’s pinned to the wall, now, with Dirk’s teeth at his throat and his hand fisted in his brother’s hair. It’s a sight that has your cock stirring in your pants with renewed interest, like you haven’t been hard since the first splatter of blood hit your hands. It’s no wonder the two of them are going at it like this, they’re equally worked up, even if Hal is the one who’s more likely to show it. You can see him grinning like the cat that got the cream, and there’s still blood on his hands, dry and flaking now and smeared in Dirk’s hair- and you know the kid’s gonna bitch about that when all this is over with.

“C’mon, bro, gotta do better than that if you want me to scream, you never really could go all the way,” Hal taunts, and you can practically feel how Dirk bristles. You’re only watching out of the corners of your eyes, right now, but you don’t need a full range of vision to see how the quieter of the two is getting rougher with that prompting, and Hal’s gasp and strangled groan tells you all you need to know. He’s a masochist, through and through, and no doubt Dirk has sunk his teeth in deep, maybe even enough to bleed. You’ll be licking that blood off his lips later. Maybe even as he fucks you- you’re in the mood for that kind of treatment, today. Why the fuck not, after all?

Hal catches your eye- your shades, technically, since you’re still wearing them- and you raise your eyebrows at him. He just crooks his fingers to gesture you closer, the little shit, but you’re not going to say no to such an invitation. Not when Dirk’s already getting to his knees in front of him, teeth tugging at his twin’s zipper. God, that’s hot. You take a moment to be grateful to the late and great Jake English for teaching him how to do just that, or maybe his porno doppelganger. You’re not going to complain, either way.

You happen to know that there’s no way the two of them haven’t orchestrated this shit, just for you- they were the ones who picked that guy, who did all the hard work and let you watch, let you have your fun. Naturally, that made you suspicious, as did the fact that they actually managed to wait until you’d gotten home; half the time, they’re just about fucking in the same room. Hal says he likes the blood fresh, which you can empathize with to a point. Dirk’s never given you a solid explanation as to why, but you suspect that it has something to do with compartmentalization. Whatever. He’s not going to blab, and as far as you’re concerned, that’s the important part.

Dirk is on his knees by the time you make your way over to them, your steps deliberately paced. Just to give him something to think about, you curl a hand into his hair, too, your fingers just brushing against Hal’s as you seal your lips to his. The two of you manage to work out a solid rhythm, a rough push and pull that lets Hal fuck his twin’s mouth, leisurely. He’s groaning like a slut, too, and you can’t help but smirk against Hal’s lips. Shit’s hot, really. Not nearly as hot as the time you’d gotten them both to suck you off, their hands still bloody and their eyes near glowing with adrenaline- that’s a particular memory you like to revisit. You wouldn’t say that you have a thing for twins, but there’s definitely something aesthetically pleasing about a matched set like these two, the both of them competing for your attention. Does wonders for a guy’s ego.

But that’s not what’s going to happen today, you know. Not with the way Hal pulls away to curse as Dirk pulls off, giving the kid a glare and receiving a cool smirk in return. And definitely not with how Dirk’s pressing himself flush against your back, a hand sliding around your waist and dipping between your legs. You rut against it shamelessly, and you feel more than hear Dirk’s murmur of ‘slut’ against the nape of your neck. It’s that kind of day, apparently, but you’re a flexible guy, you can handle it. Ain’t like the kids can show you anything you haven’t seen before, after all.

Hal’s kiss turns a whole lot more possessive, all teeth and tongue; he bites down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery tang of it seeps through the entire kiss. It only makes you harder, only has you pressing in for more, your fist curled tight in his shirt as clever fingers (Dirk’s, you think, it has to be him) start undoing the buttons of your own. Nails rake hard down your chest, three sharp lines of pain that you arch into, because _fuck yes_ , it is _definitely_ that kind of day. It’s even better when your shirt’s pulled off, scratches along the length of your arms, and it’s a shame that the blood won’t smear, that it’s already mostly dried and crusted over on Hal’s hands. Dirk doesn’t like to get his dirty, he favors gloves, mostly.

“Pants,” Hal orders and you smirk as you undo your belt, let it drop to the floor with a decisive clink. Maybe you’re milking it, a little, getting them even more riled up- Hal, especially, with his impatient little huff. But he drags his teeth down the side of your neck, hot tongue tracing against your carotid. You shudder, tilt your head back, practically daring him to sink his teeth in. And he does, biting down hard enough to bruise, sucking a mark that’s going to be purple for days afterwards, as Dirk abandons your shirt for now, in favour of loosening your tie, turning it so the length is on your back. In his control. There’s a bit of a scuffle, too, when Hal yanks at the collar- “fuckin’ silk, be careful,” you warn, shit was expensive, but then his mouth is on your skin, and Dirk’s hands are making short work of ridding you of your pants, so you stop that complaint real fast. You’re not wearing underwear, of course, that just fucking ruins the experience of designer pants. And maybe you were taking a page out of the twins’ book in terms of preparation and readiness and that shit.

A groan rumbles in your chest, turns to a sharp hiss of breath when Hal sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, just where it joins your shoulder. You can feel the wet warmth seep into your shirt- and damn but it’s going to stain, you’re gonna have to either burn it or disguise it as something else to be dry cleaned, what a pain in the ass they can be. Fuck. But there’s a hand around your dick soon enough, and that derails your train of thought. Dirk’s, you’re pretty sure, all nimble and calloused fingers, ones that feel pretty fucking great as he provides a loose, dry fist for you to fuck into. You know that they feel even better inside you.

“Knees, bro,” Dirk murmurs into your ear, his breath hot as it fans against your skin. When you glance at Hal, he’s looking at his twin, not at you, animosity crackling in the air between them. Christ. If they end up distracted by some kind of pissing contest (and god you’re hoping that ends up being metaphorical, it’s one of the things you, surprise surprise, are not actually into), you’re going to end up taking charge and that just ruins whatever set-up they’ve got going on.

But Hal’s hand is on your shoulder now, pushing you down, so you meet his eyes as he plucks your shades off, tosses them carelessly to the side. You mumble a half-hearted threat as to what’ll happen if they’re scratched or some shit- seriously, dude, they were a gift from fuckin’ Stiller, your actual treasured possession, practically your child, which you probably shouldn’t be saying to the two kids you raised, but hey-, but he just rolls his eyes and gets a good fistful of your hair, yanking you forwards so your face is flush against his crotch. Well, hello, there.

“There’s a one hundred percent chance that you’re going to let me fuck your mouth and enjoy the shit out of it,” he informs you, smug. “Having such a slut for a brother really can be quite the good thing, despite the occasional hang-ups, don’t you think?”

It’s clear that he’s addressing Dirk, his tone fucking conversational as ever, even as you yank his pants down, mouthing at the straining fabric of his boxers. He rolls his hips, pressing further against your tongue for encouragement.

“If you could get on all fours, it’d make things considerably easier on this end,” is what Dirk says first, and you pause for a moment to look back at him. “But I’ve got to agree with you on that count, for once. A moment for the history books, I’m sure.” This, to Hal.

“Selfish. You trying to ruin my fun here, broseph?”

“Au contraire, bromeo, I’m just going for the option that’ll have minimal rearrangement when we really get into it. Aren’t you meant to be thinking ahead, these days?”

You leave them to that little argument, and shift to balance on your hands and knees. It feels terribly vulnerable like this, especially given what you’ve just seen them do- what you participated in, yourself-, but that just makes it better. Or that’s what you think, anyway. Neither twin is ever inclined to indulge you in this when they’re on the receiving end.

“I’m the one that has the lube, not you,” Hal retorts. Petty as ever, the two of them. “So how’s that for thinking ahead, dunkass?”

“You have it because I asked you to pick it up, not because you thought to yourself, ‘yes, surely we’re going to need this so it can be smooth and efficient’,” Dirk snaps back. There’s a whistle and a quiet thud, presumably as Hal throws the small bottle to his twin.

“Smooth and efficient? Your idea of good sex is laughable,” and really, you can’t argue with that one. Smooth and efficient is the actual polar opposite of pretty much all your sexual interactions. Try for messy, hot, and usually kind of nasty. Not that you’d ever complain about that.

“And you like to complicate things needlessly,” Dirk says, and you’re not going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. Sure, you might like to get your hands dirty now and then, but when your two jackass brothers fight, it just makes shit messier than it needs to be. Especially when said fight is apparently distracting them from shit that needs doing- this being you, of course.

“Full offense or whatever, but are you two gonna actually do anything or am I gonna need to go take care of myself,” you butt in to derail their horseshit entirely.

“Right. Sorry, broski, we’re going to need to postpone this to a later date,” Hal sneers at Dirk as he gets onto his knees in front of you. Not before shucking his boxers off, of course, which is the kind of thing you appreciate. “Senior’s bones over here aren’t precisely as sturdy as they used to be, and we can’t have him on the hard floor for too long.”

“No need to induce some sort of early onset arthritis,” Dirk agrees, and this is arguably the least sexy conversation they could possibly be having right now. Your ass is literally in the air, and Dirk’s ignoring it. Not to mention how you’re not actually that old, what the fuck.

“Or osteoporosis,” Hal adds. He wraps a hand around his cock, presses the head against your lips and smears them with bitter pre. You open your mouth almost immediately, letting your tongue loll out and lap at the droplets beading the flushed head of it.

“Bone atrophy,” Dirk says, mocking, and you’re fifty percent sure that’s a meme, he’s _memeing_ during this, and honestly, you’re not sure if you should be proud or disgusted. You settle for both. (Both is good).

You don’t realize that Dirk had been slicking up his fingers through all this, not until you feel two of them probing at your rim, the slightly rough pads of them catching against sensitive skin. You groan, just as Hal slides right in, all the way to the root- fuck, you weren’t ready for that, you never are, and your throat convulses around him as you try not to cough or choke. Shit’s mad uncool. He doesn’t even give you a moment to rest, the fist in your hair tightening to the verge of painful. Your eyes water, just a little, but your cock’s leaking, you can feel it, all those crossed wires of badgood _fuckinggreat_ as Hal fucks your mouth with all the leisure of someone who’s planning to take a good, long time to get what they want.

Dirk adds his fingers on the second roll of his twin’s hips, pressing them in to the third knuckle, and you’d cry out if your mouth wasn’t full. Hal keeps his thrusts shallow, almost lazy, and the stream of chatter that filters down from his mouth to your ears is downright filthy, but boy is it pushing all the right buttons there. He tells you that you’re his, you’re theirs, that you’ll never belong to anyone else, that nobody else wants you anywhere as much. That you’re a good boy, for them, aren’t you Dave? And really, you can only look up at him with wide eyes, nodding shallowly as he sinks back in to the root, crushes your nose against the fine blonde strands of hair at his pelvis.

And Dirk’s scissoring his fingers inside you, his stretching deliberately rough so that you can feel the discomfort, the ache and burn that sets you off in all the best ways and makes good and damn sure that you’re not going to be getting off any time soon. Fucker. You very nearly let out a whimper when he adds a third, curling and spreading them inside you and only _just_ brushing against your prostate- he knows what he’s doing, the complete asshole, like he wants to make you desperate, wants to make you beg. You’re going to pretend that you wouldn’t, even if you didn’t have a dick down your throat.

“C’mon, dude, he doesn’t need any more stretching.” You glance up at Hal’s voice, and even though his face is flushed a red that rivals his eyes (your eyes, too, you match), he’s perfectly nonchalant, that smug smirk still curling his mouth. You’re pretty sure you agree with his assessment, though, and you let him know by taking a breath, swallowing around him just to make his breath stutter. That smirk’s directed at you, and he looks down to meet your gaze, croons out, “Just like that, bro, you perfect little fucktoy.”

You kind of hate how they can play you like a fiddle, because Dirk joins in, just then, right when he withdraws his fingers and leaves you achingly empty, still wanting more. You’d look back at him, if you could, but Hal’s still holding your head, even as he pulls out. A string of saliva connects your lips and his cock, and he looks inordinately pleased at the shitty porn trope making its way into your sex life, here. To each their own, you guess; you’re just focusing on trying not to cough like a noob to clear out your throat, while also figuring out the best way to get them right the fuck back inside you.

It turns out that you don’t need to do anything other than part your lips to whisper out a hoarse plea, and some bullshit twin telepathy has them both pressing in at the same time. Hal’s a slow slide into your mouth, pushing in all the way until the head’s bumping against the back of your throat and you need to take a deep breath, swallow him down. Dirk’s a steady press and burn and feeling like you’re finally fucking full, everything you’ve been aching for since you had your hands wrapped around a knife, buried it in that guy’s chest and watched the light die in his eyes. And then, they _move_.

In tandem, in concert, slow for just a few thrusts to get you used to it, before they really start. It’s not elegant, it’s not tender or loving, or any of that shit. It’s fucking, plain and simple, Hal down your throat and groaning in his chest, a sound that you love, and Dirk slamming his hips into yours, fingers tight enough against your skin that you’re expecting goddamn fingerprint bruises when you’re done. And it’s still not enough, what can you say, you’re a greedy fucker. You want it all, you’ll take everything they can dish out. After all, you taught them everything they know.

And then there’s pressure on your throat, the tie tightened and coiled around Dirk’s hand as he pulls it taut. _Fuck._ You can’t breathe, and there’s something visceral and primal about that, that desperation that edges everything. Your face feels hot, you can almost feel the blood pounding in your ears as you try, reflexively, pathetically, to inhale. Hal’s cock is still down your throat, you can feel every single detail of it against your tongue. Dirk’s still in your ass, you’re so full, you can’t breathe, it’s so _much_ -

He lets go, and oxygen comes flooding in, and they don’t stop. Oh, god, they don’t stop. Your hands might be shaking, you can barely hold yourself up, but it’s nothing at all to rock your hips back into Dirk’s thrusts, to revel in that sound of skin slapping against skin until it fades again when Dirk cuts you off, to let Hal take whatever he wants and nearly goddamn choke you on his cock and make you want to thank him for it.

You’re agonizingly close already, almost embarrassingly so, and each rush of oxygen, each push in and pull out, every flash of pain and discomfort is building you up and still keeping you from the edge. You won’t lie, you love it. You distantly register Dirk and Hal talking, nails digging into your side and scalp. You’re caught in between them, their movements getting rougher and losing that damnably perfect rhythm as they take, and take, and you’re not breathing, now, you’ll maybe have bruises around your neck to match, but the world narrows to sensation: bursts of pleasure, when the length of Dirk’s cock rubs against your prostate, brutally fast; the taste of Hal in your mouth, pre flowing freely, bitter and musky and smooth skin, your jaw stretched wide.

Your head’s empty of nearly all thoughts but fuck, and please, and you can _feel_ it building, you’re aching and desperate for it and maybe your vision’s fuzzy at the edges, now, but-

Fuck, Hal’s pulled out, rough, and you can suddenly breathe again, gasping and gulping down air as everything floods into focus once more. You barely register the sight of his hand around his cock, rough and desperate, because there’s one tight around yours, and god, it feels good, feels so right as it slides down and- and _squeezes_ , too tight.

No, nonono, you’re babbling it now, you’re sure, nearly sobbing with frustration as Dirk keeps his hand right there, and you tense up, you can’t come, you need it-

And Hal is groaning out your name, his voice thick with pleasure, splatters of white landing on your face, hot like a brand against your cheekbones. You drink in the sight of him coming undone, his lips parted and head thrown back, his arms still smeared in that flaking red. You can hear Dirk, too, murmuring that you can’t, sorry, not until he’s done. You whine, you’re not ashamed to say it, but he’s getting rougher and a little more desperate, and it’s not long before he buries himself in you, root-deep and filling you up, and fuck, you can feel the heave and shudder of him as he comes with a quiet groan.

He’s not moving anymore, but you are, and you’re ready, you’ve been ready. It’s almost as an afterthought, that his grip loosens, his hand moves once, then twice, and you’re _gone._ Your climax is less a fall into pleasure and more a wire snapping, and you nearly sob in relief as the pleasure takes you, utterly and completely, and you finally slump onto the floor, deeply satisfied and smeared with white.

Hal is the first one to recover, and you assume he’s the one who prompts Dirk to pull out (woe, misery, kind of disgusting gape that’s really wrecking your afterglow). You’re still kind of boneless, and you let them help you up, all the aggression spent for now as they murmur sweet nothings to you and bicker quietly about who’s cleaning what.  But you’re still trying to cling to that euphoria, that contentment that settles deep in your bones: You’re the center of their attention, now. They did all this for you, treated you to some good old-fashioned stress relief, both your favorite kinds. And you know that despite all the fame, all the attention that you thrive on, you never really need any fans. After all, who else would be this dedicated to you?


End file.
